Shoe-icide

My feet are killing me.

I just returned from work and even though I’m wearing flats I still feel like my toes and nails are screaming to get out of dodge.

It’s amazing what a bad inheritance does to your lifestyle.
Instead of being graced with my mother’s thin, narrow feet, I get stuck with my father’s “empanada style” lower extremities.

Having a messed-up base for my contexture in direct contact with the ground makes it almost impossible for me to walk charmingly as a model… not that I have the body (nor the feet for that matter) to achieve this, but as a woman, it’s a must have necessity to present yourself with grace while walking.

My husband knows not to push or criticize neither my posture nor my walking, however, he sometimes asks me to wear these uncomfortable high heels that destroy my feet beyond recognition.

No pedicure can sustain the amount of stress my nails endure daily, and sometimes I find myself polishing them several times a week to beautify them in a futile effort to make them look presentable.
The sole of my feet suffer as well, and sometimes I have to really be on top of them not to develop a second pair of shoes on them as well.

The only characteristic that my feet offer, which saves them from exile, is that the sizes of my toes are perfectly even between each other.
The longest one if my big toe, and the smallest one it’s my pinkie toe.
This feature is a rarity in female foots where sometimes the middle toe is the longest one… but my mother’s genes took a pity on me and at least, they grazed me with that attribute.

So here I am: feet over head in my couch, my husband looks at me from his peripheral vision and makes a smirk; I’m sure he’s laughing on the inside.. My feet, on the other hand, are full-on, completely careless, free as birds, laughing on the outside.

Good bye flats, hello socks!

Be patient... or not

Patience it’s an alien concept for me.

Rather you're patient, or you aren't: there's no in-between.
When reading a book, I sometimes need to scroll down to the end and then I’ll be able to continue reading; knowing that the hero or heroine of my story are having a happy-ever-after ending.

Books are one of my hobbies, and even though I know it’s like an assassination to the whole process of reading a novel, I just can start in the first page if I know that the ending wouldn’t be as satisfying as I expect it to be.

My twin sister and I share this curse.

Even with movies, I have to ask: - How does it end? -

My friends think I’m crazy and they don’t want to spoil the experience for me, but thank god for Google and the “spoilers alert” when reading reviews.

I always look for those because they’re sure to tell you if you’re headed for disappointment.

This particularly impatient side of my personality is not always reflected only on my hobbies, but rather all of my life.

I love surprises, but I prefer to know them ahead of time.

I know: contradiction alert!

 I do my research if I suspect of something; that’s why my husband could never surprise me when he was living abroad and tried to visit me without me knowing of it.

I’m a sucker for romantic gestures, but most of the time I predict them before they happen, so they don’t have the same effect on me.

My husband can usually work his way around my impatience and we’ve gotten to a point where if he asks me NOT to ask him something about anything: I hold my end of the bargain; even though sometimes it costs me my sanity.

What can I say: I wasn’t born in this world to die of a ‘surprised’ heart attack.

So there you have it: I read non-stop, but I always have to know the end of the books, I go to the movies, but I always read the “spoilers alerts” before paying for my ticket and most importantly, I’m never ever going to be caught off guard with a surprise… the last time that happened was when I got engaged, and let me tell you, it wasn’t an easy feast to work around my astonish face and create a reasonable thought to answer one of the most important questions in my life.

Needless to say, I’m NOT looking forward to anything out of the ordinary to make my life exciting.

I just looove happy “everybody knows about” endings.

To write... or not to write... that's the dilemma

I started a non-fiction writing workshop to improve my Spanish writing skills.

Not that I have none, rather that most of the time I create my stories in my head, and all of them are written in English.

I think it’s a phase; something related to the fact that I live and breathe in an English speaking country, and that forces you to doubt when putting your ideas to paper in Spanish.
My stepmom has been pushing for me to change my writing ways and embrace my mother tongue, but it’s proven to be more difficult than I thought.

Today I’m working on my first assignment: I have to write a letter to someone that hasn’t been in contact with me for the past ten years and I have to put him/her up to speed with my life.

Conflict arises when my first sentence comes alive:

"No time, no see"

The Spanish translation for this phrase is not as catchy, so I start over.

Hernán, our teacher, understands my predicament because he’s been living in the USA for a long time and he tries to use examples from several authors (not just Spanish speaking ones) to make a point over a lesson.

In our next class we’ll have to share what we wrote, but I’m worried that mine will look like a battlefield between the Spanish and the English Armada; with a mixture of Spanglish so entangled that I’ll need a dictionary to put it to sense.

Hopefully, we’ll run out of time in class before it’s my turn to present.

If not, there’s always the “bathroom” excuse or the “I don’t feel that well” excuse; men always think that you’re having your period and they leave you alone, oblivious to your lie.

I’ve never performed really well with an audience.
I was never a very good joker, I don’t have charisma to mingle with people, and I don’t feel comfortable being the center of attentions… so blogging and writing are perfect for me.

My sisters are already suggesting blogs to improve my Spanish writing techniques; and my mom sent me a list of books that I’ll have to decide if they’re too boring or worth my effort after I’ve perused them all (she sent me a 3-page document).

My friend, R.B. subscribed me to a magazine from Spain that’s proven to be really helpful… so luckily, it won’t be long until my pen name will be:

Casada pero desempleada.

Hasta la vista!

http://orsai.es/blog/

http://www.hernanii.net/

Ice doesn't help the uncoordinated

When God chose attributes for my complexion, he stared onto my gene pool and though first to teach my father a lesson for wishing so much for a son, and decided to give him twin daughters (he had three before God took pity on him and allow him for two sons).

Then, God said to himself that green eyes and blond hair would be enough beauty to make me feel comfortable, but not proud… he added all my father’s body characteristics (big butt, chubby, awkward legs, bad nails and crooked teeth) and the cherry to the ice cream came when he made me uncoordinated enough to never even master the art of walking properly.

Hence, I had to survive high school and braces at the same time, I never made it to any sports team and I live on a never-ending diet (thanks God, you shouldn’t have bother).

You have to picture an over achiever father with an activities calendar as big as a Triathlon athlete and me, who choses a good reading and coffee over any outdoor activity that involves body effort.

This weekend, my husband decided we should go skiing.

Aside from being the coldest weekend of this winter season, I had no proper clothes for the task and I didn’t want a body injury bad enough to show enthusiasm for his idea.

I have a huge complex… wouldn’t you?

Every sport I had to learn (skiing on water and snow, wave boarding, horse riding, aerobics... walking) was a complete disaster with tears involved, impatient screams, defeat and finally, the achievement that lasted long enough for me to survive and take courage for the next lesson ahead.

So yesterday I had the proper excuse to stay reading and drinking coffee while my husband rode the mountain as an expert (or at least better than me)… but proper didn’t assure me anything, so after much insistence from his part, I decided to give it a try… again (I’m a sucker for ‘pretty please’).

I armored myself with thick pants, scarf, jacket, thermic socks, gloves, proper equipment and headed for the ski slope showing defeat and fear at the same time… disaster was to come and I was willingly walking towards it.

To my surprise, I didn’t even stumbled once… I realized that most of my incoordination came from surviving the wrong teaching lessons and that I wasn’t as incapable as I thought… granted, I’m no sports lover, but needless to say that it was my first enjoyed ski ride.

Our next weekend activities would be beach-laying or mountain-staring or city-contemplation… but for this one weekend, I really enjoyed an outdoor activity with body effort involved.

Winter love, Winter food and Winter city

Marriage, like Lentils and living in a big city, was something I had never thought I would get used to.

I change my mind about New York when I saw the city from the top of the Rockefeller Center, the New Year’s Eve when my husband (by then Fiancée) proposed to me... some three years ago.

From then on, I was a devoted fan of this amazing metropolis and all it had to offer.

Even so, I miss my Caribbean weather… more now that we’re in winter; but New York has grown on me... whatever that means.

Regarding marriage… it took being in love with my husband to make me change my mind about that one.

I was always this independent spirit, never ready to be ‘dominated’ by the male inhabitants of the world, but now, I found it exciting: two people, together, as one.

They say you get used to your wedding ring, but I hope that’s not true.

Since the day I changed from Miss to Mrs., it’s a proud trophy that I carry with me everyday – except when I visit my family in Argentina… security is not one of this country’s major assets -.

I’m where I’m supposed to be. 

I’m happy, I’m content. I’m fulfilled.

As lentils go… I’m still waiting.

Holiday recapitulation

‘Drinkcember’ started with a Brunch in our house.

Some friends were invited and by 1 pm we were all tipsy from the Bellinis (crazy stuff, uhhh)… the bagels and omelets absorbed the little alcohol we were drinking and by 4 pm, it was already dark and my husband and I were exhausted, splayed on the couch, watching TV.
As you can see, it’s a risky business being in our social network (can you hear the irony?).

However, after some days passed, we realized that the tolerance to alcohol began to increase. We made Wine-A-Ritas every weekend. During work days we tried 1 or 2 glasses of wine along with dinner… our excuse being that ‘drinkcember’ happens once a year and we couldn’t let it go to waste.

A small restaurant in our neighbor (which we love and always go for special occasions) was our destination for Christmas Eve… we ate until our bellies ached, and drank enough to fell content and relaxed.

 The walk home was 3 blocks in a really cold weather but we managed to arrive without precedent (my spasticity increases with alcohol and heels, but since it was a short stroll, I survived).

That weekend, we had the 6^th most important snow storm in the last decade, hence, we went out and drove the deserted streets of Manhattan with 6 inches of snow building up by the hour… completely irresponsible, but is not everyday that you get to see (or not see… considering the 10% visibility) Manhattan covered in white.

By New Year’s Eve, the alcohol in our house was reduced to almost nothing… we had succeeded in the difficult task of consuming 6 bottles of wine in a whole month (sarcasm… you think?).

For some people, partying and club hoping are fun ways to enjoy the start of a new year, my husband and I enjoyed a fondue during dinner, drinking wine and watching the Times Square ball event that happens every year.

What can I say? We enjoy each other’s company… and it’s really too cold outside to motivate us out of the house… and it’s a crazy scenery on the streets, where everyone is too excited for their own good.

So, in the end, this was our first holidays alone since we got married.

We realized that youth and adventure go hand-in-hand in our lives (what white the surprise flight fiasco, the driving in the snow... and other events transferred in this blog), however, craziness and partying it’s a whole new level of youngness that we decided not to pursue… low alcohol levels and decent sleep hours are something that we don’t want to give up.

Therefore, if you’re looking for a night out in the city, with lots of booze, long nights, sleepy days and crazy events… don’t count with us.

Convivio Restaurant (www.convivionyc.com)

We decide to take a trip… and “Hitch” tags along

No, this is not the story of how we met Will Smith at the airport…. although I wish it would had been.

My husband had this incredible ‘last minute’ idea of taking a plane to Argentina and surprise my father for his birthday.

Experience tells me that ‘last-minute-anything’ tends to go-south starting from the first minute, but we didn’t listened to our instincts and bought two round trips for the weekend.

My husband’s brother was in NY, so we had lunch with him prior to starting our adventure… arugula and prosciutto crepes were enjoyed over New York tap water.

We headed to the airport, high-spirited and full of excitement for the prospect of becoming the advanced Christmas presents to fifty members of my family (yes, we already covered the extent of my father’s side clan).

Whilst driving, a small bird defecated over my recently washed car, so being the clean freak that I am; I cleaned it with a baby wipe when we arrived.

Immigrations happened without any incident and we decided to peruse some bookstore and find something entertaining to read for the 17-hour trip ahead of us.

 While doing this, I started to feel strangely warm (considering that we were in a -2°C weather) and I removed my sweater and scarf… this brought some itching to my neck and I started scratching nonchalantly until I realized that I was rubbing my scalp… did I had lice? I didn’t think that after 20-year out of primary school the lice would’ve decided to make me theirs again, so a visit to the bathroom settled my curiosity… I definitely didn’t had lice, nor any type of bugs over me, however, I was starting to show some red areas in my stomach and my neck, as well as my whole face.

I assumed this was something related to a temporary itch, so I went out to look for my husband. He saw me and understood that something wasn’t right, so he insisted on going to the pharmacy to get an anti-allergic.

I stayed seated on a coffee shop and my ears began disturbing me, I couldn’t stop scratching them… this added to the fact that now all of my upper body parts were on fire.

I have a high-tolerance to pain and disturbing things… my husband doesn’t like this because I never get sick or complain about being sick, however, when I do have a problem, we usually end up in the E.R.

I called him (because it couldn’t take more than 5 minutes to get some medicine) and as soon as he saw my call, he realized that I was in utter and complete discomfort (I never call him for these things).

He run back and I swallowed four pills immediately, while staring at my wrist watch… the medicine was suppose to be effective ‘within 15 minutes’ and I wanted desperately to feel the ‘instant relief’.

My ears became bigger and my neck was scorching red, as well as my underarms, my back, my stomach, my inner thighs… I couldn’t concentrate hard enough to prevent myself from scratching and that’s when… even though I kept saying that I was A.OK… my husband; who knows something about ‘desperate circumstances calls for desperate measures’, requested the airport doctor.

Not 2 minutes later, I had an EMT with a defibrillator (he thought I was unconscious), two paramedics checking my vitals (they received a distressed called of someone dying on an airport gate), an oxygen mask tide to my face (allergy and asthma don’t mix too well… and I, supposedly, had both) all of our bags strapped to a stretcher and me and my husband, riding over the airport runways in an ambulance headed to the nearest hospital.

Needless to say that when we got home, it was midnight, we were exhausted, I felt renewed after that cortisone IV that reduced the swelling and the itching and the redness and the hives…. we missed our one-time opportunity to visit our family in an over Atlantic adventure, though.

However, we had our adventure … not cross-oceanic, not family related, no barbecue was involved… we spent 4 hours at the hospital, they drugged me until I was white enough to ease their minds that I wasn’t going to die of respiratory failure, we shared an overcrowded E.R. area full of sick people… and most importantly, we learned that ‘last minute’ anything, is not something we’ll be trying again soon.

As for my allergy, if it was the prosciutto, the arugula, the crepes or the bird’s crap… we’re not sure... what I definitely know, is that I’ll not be trying those in the near future.

Feeling under the weather

What does that expression mean?

We’re always under the weather, considering that the climate conditions are reflected in the sky, so all of us wake up every day feeling “under” the weather…. However, stupid people use this expression to express a mood or a feeling, like when you’re sad or going to be sick.

I really can’t put my finger on it.
I feel under the weather all the time… if the day starts like today: cloudy, cold, gloomy… I’ll most sure will feel under the weather… a “pilarsicle” working with the only purpose to be back at my comfy house, warm and toasty.

I’ll have to come up with a different phrase to express my “comfort (or uncomfortable) situation” when I’m coming down with a flu or something… maybe I can say: I’m feeling like the weather… but that will only work if it’s an awful day… the sun wouldn’t replicate my state if he’s too shiny and I’m too ‘grey’. 

I could say: I’m feeling opposite to the weather.. if it’s too sunny for my ‘sick’ state.

That’s it… Like or Opposite.
I think it’s catchy and a bit less moronic that Under.

So today, I’m definitely feeling LIKE the weather… I’m not coming down with the flu, but I’m sleepy and cold, I want to be at my home, cuddling with my pillow and burrowing under the covers.

I’ll love to be feeling OPPOSITE to the weather.

We're definitely UNDER it… but that doesn’t explain to you how I’m feeling at all.

To be more specific, I'm like the weather, wanting to be opposite and definitely under.

Blood makes you sisters… and personality makes you different

My sisters were visiting for Thanksgiving.

My big sister “S” was here for the first time since I moved. Her first visit was ages ago, so her memory needed to be refresh with new sightseeing, lots of pictures and different places to walk through.

My twin sister “D” has been in NY with me for, at least, 4 times since I moved, so for her was more about the time spent together, enjoying her new Kindle acquisition, the cooking-bonding process and so on.

I had to work some days of the week, but I got to spent Thanksgiving holiday with them… me and my non-born-from-me child: the turkey.

We named them after me because of a joke that has been around since my first turkey… my husband’s cousin said that my turkey was the best he had ever tried (I assume because he didn’t want me to feel bad after my first try) and from then on, the turkey and me share my name…. so when my husband asks:

-          Where is “P”?

Someone will answer:

-          In the oven … or in the kitchen

My sisters are two very different persons.

“S” was known for her volatile character when we were younger, however, she outgrew the need to yell at everybody (‘the world against me’ drama) and now she has a nice patience and lack of promptness that is soothing and unnerving at the same time.

“D” is a hurricane… always doing, pushing, moving, talking… she’s not the best listener but can be great to give good advice when needed and she’s one of the most reliable persons that I know.

Both her characters are so different… our characters are sooooo different… that you wouldn’t think we’re related if you’re blindfolded hearing us talk
“S” would be soothing the conversation, avoiding conflict and trying to bury the issue… good intentions but I get exasperated sometimes when I want to yell my throat off and I can’t.

“D” is the opposite, looking for a conflict at the round of every corner… it doesn’t matter if you’re talking about the weather, she’ll probably take it personally for the poor rain that’s being criticized for wetting everything and she’ll be over you like a lion.

Me… I can’t shut up. I need to learn to be polite and choose the moments and the time to be brutally honest, and accept the fact that everybody is not always ready to hear what I have… need… to say.

Needless to say, that blood makes us sisters… we’ll always have each other, for better or for worse, with turkey or not, sunny day or raining men… but our personalities are what defines us.
Separated we're three very disturbed (or not) persons… together, we’re completely and utterly perfect!

Heels and winter… not a good combination

Cold weather is here, and with it, came the snow, the morning dew turn to ice, and my increased inability to walk in heels from my car to the office.

13 steps a day that seems like the longest running track with difficult obstacles, when in reality it’s just the sidewalk, some pavement, and the door… but, the obstacles are the worse: wind, ice and snow.

Heels and me have a long lasting relationship going on… sometimes I decide to leave them and stick with my comfy flats, but since I occupy a responsible position in a company, I cannot show to work dressed as a student, so I try to befriend my shoes and accept their high heels and their pointy toes.

Designers never thought on women’s feet when they came up with the idea of heels… less in winter and the added difficulty to wear them… because if they would have had, round toes and flat shoes will be the latest fashion and everyone will be wearing them, specially on this time of the year.

But, we’re stuck with boots that are too tight and too high for my flat, square feet, and the matter that I don’t have an arch, doesn’t help the matter.

So every morning, I turn off my car, switch my tennis shoes for my high heel boots and try to walk, without falling on my butt in a spectacular fashion in front of every co-worker… most of the times I manage it by doing the process really slowly, like a 1-year-old kid that’s just learning to walk.

This strategy works to perfection, and when it doesn’t, I just pray that my pants aren’t damaged after my stumble, or that my heels are still intact, and then… I consider my body parts:

-          Ankles… check, no broken bones there

-          Butt… sore, but intact

-          Hands… no scratches

-          Shame… growing by the minute

Is on this days were I pray for winter to be over and summer to come back with its scorching hot days… too bad that the nightmare is barely starting.

Innovation… anyone?

This was the header of the newspaper this morning… I read it walking my way to the elevator on our neighbour’s front door (my only true ‘news reading’ is a 3 seconds stop to know if the world is coming to an end… or not… mostly not).
Bearing in mind the fact that I consider myself a most boring person, with a square type personality, set to become an hermit before turning fifty, reading my books and drinking coffee.. The newspaper’s header touch my self-esteem and I decided to write a bit about true innovation… the one that happens every day, even though it doesn’t get notice by the whole population of the world, mainly my husband, my dog and me.
Cooking… innovative cuisine is something that you’ve to experiment by default when moving to a new country were ‘calabaza’ is “butternut squash” or “pumpkin”… or ‘semillas de cajuil’ is “cashews… or ‘tomillo’ is “thyme”… just by going to the grocery store you get confuse by all the different names and even though you have your grandma’s recipe with you to get everything for that chicken casserole, parsley gets confused with basil, and so on… at the end, you have what it looks like a chicken casserole but smells like an Indian dish… all spiced up and smelling strong.
Drinking… innovative drinking comes with the territory when living abroad. One always has to try new brands, flavours, drinks. I’m a weak drinker, so other than a different juice flavour, I don’t try new stuffs, however, my husband and I made a trip to the vineyards and came back addicted to ‘wine-a-rita’… so I have to consider that as an innovation in my life.
Dressing… innovative dress codes are a given when you live in one of the Fashion capitals of the world… I would have never consider to use leggings before (my big butt and all), but here, leggings are a fashion statement that improves your appearance while making you look sleek and cool.
Pet Care… yes, as you know, I have a dog and he’s also been innovating on his diet (orange treats that taste like pork, or green treats that make your mouth smell like grass) and on his care routine… with special “play days” with his mates from the vet’s office or grooming sessions to improve his looks.
Technology… the most important innovation of this generation.
Since I’ve moved to NY I’ve acquired a razor for sweaters, a nail trimmer for dogs, a ultra light, ultra thin, ultra fast hair dryer, an iPad (for my hubby), 4 iPhones (we change them every year) and an egg cooker that can do amazing omelettes, eggs Benedict and poached eggs in less than 3 minutes.
So… to the New York Times editor that choose that header to come out on the Wednesday edition… please revise your choices for a selling front cover and try to asses more important matters, like traffic jams on the Long Island Express way to improve my driving time to work, or the subway on the 2nd avenue, so my husband doesn’t have to ride the subway like in a sardines can every afternoon, or even grocery prices, so I don’t have to travel 40 miles to do my grocery shopping in ShopRite at a reasonable price.

Innovation… everyone? Duh!

A cup o’ Joe from "Star-kin" for this Jane

There’s a bickering going on between coffee drinkers about the quality and taste that compares Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts when in need of a caffeine fix.


I’ve had the experience of having to throw away a Starbucks coffee because it tasted like burned horse piss; so I decided to move my 2 dollars into Dunkin Donuts coffee for a test.

True facts is that the ambience it’s not as nice as Starbucks and the pastries offered are reduced only to Donuts and Bagels, rather than a nice Cranberry muffin or a Lemon Loaf; however, the coffee smells and tastes fresh (no burnt smell to be found) and you’re in and out with your drink before you can say Jack Robinson (I cannot use the work Cock to replicate the Spanish phrase).

It’s a great choice if you’re having it in your office rather than staying on location to drink it.

Timing is another big issue for my impatient self, because wasting more than 3 minutes in buying coffee it’s more than I can cope with. I hate being in line waiting and it’s worse when I’m behind someone that wants their “Tall, Decaf, Non-foam, Skinny, Caramel Latte… with sweetener”.

I mean, how complicated can it be to order a coffee straight from the menu?

I had a discussion on Sunday regarding this matter. One Peruvian guy tried to convince me that Starbucks was the best coffee ever, without ever having tried Dunkin Donuts… needless to say that his argument wasn’t strong enough to change me (nor my caffeinated self); however mine, was strong enough to place an ounce of doubt into his brain… he’ll be trying a Chai Latte from Dunkin Donuts soon enough.

Dear tourists: keep crowding Starbucks’s ordering line, keep clustering the tables and seats, breathing the burnt coffee aroma each store breaths and maintain our Dunkin Donuts lines free and clear, for me to order my Latte in an acceptable timely fashion, without getting dizzy or crush by ignorant coffee drinkers who don’t understand the difference between a Cup of Joe and a Cup o’ scorched Joe.
 
Now while we're on the subject, how incredible would it be to be able to enjoy a mix between Starbucks and its pastries, as well as Dunkin and its coffee in the same shop... Star-Kin, with a decor between an Italian kitchen and a German billiard room, white tiles with wood furniture... NOT!

Wife, Friend, Companion, Parnter, Team player... everything but Masseuse

My husband has a high consideration for me. He respects me and thinks that I can accomplish anything that I commit myself to… if I want to (of course).

However, there’s one particular aspect of my talents that he knows, firsthand, I’m lacking: my massage-giving ability.

This is an issue for us, because he loves a back rubbing and I don’t particularly enjoy it.

I squirm under the hand of the masseuse because my muscles hurt whenever someone is giving me a rubdown, so I tend to avoid it. Not my husband though, he loves someone kneading her back… so my Neanderthal-type touch is horrible in comparison to what a real masseuse can offer him (and I completely understand and encourage him to try a massage somewhere else).

The thing is that with all the studying he’s been doing for an exam he has to do on December, his free time (or our free time together) has been reduced to dinners and 45 minutes of an episode of The Mentalist once a week… not much to work with if you want to add additional ‘activities’ in-between… So I’ve become the full-time masseuse in our household.

My husband tries not to make me feel bad (considering the sacrifice I’m making to doing something that I’m awful at and I don’t completely enjoy) but the other day, after a lame attempt from my side to achieve a decent massage, he stood up, looked me in the eyes and told me:

- Honey, there are few things that you can’t do in your life, and a massage is definitely one of them. You completely lack the patience for it!

… Which it’s true!!

I’m impatient and that profession is for someone with centered body energy, someone who practices Yoga and eats dinner at a slow pace… not me!

I roll over life, accomplishing professional successes and personal improvements (less stubbornness, more tolerability, less speed in my day-to-day activities, more slow-paced actions)… maybe when I feel the need to slow down and take importance in other parts of my life, I’ll be able to triumph in those aspects and develop the ability to do a decent massage; but until that time comes; I’m pretty sure I’ll not be performing any neck rubbing, feet smoothing, back kneading… to anyone… anymore.

I’m a spastic person; whoever thought that I could perform a flawless massage doesn’t know me or my lack in Spa-type activities likeness.

My husband now knows that I can’t even pretend to be good at it… my hands don’t help, my impatience doesn’t help, my revulsion to moisturizing-cream doesn’t help (such a greasy product, yuck!).

Some of us are born masseuses, I was just born everything else (minus the masseuse thing).'

Astrology: science or superstition?

We had a get together with one of my best friends here in NY.
She came to our house to have dinner with my husband and I… we ordered Pizza and Sushi, accompanied by a bottle of Argentinean wine, of course.

She’s kind of the guru of the group, always interested in the planets, the energy, the universe, the season changes, etc… I wouldn’t call her an expert, I'd call her a potential expert, someone that has the ability to understand all that mumbo-jumbo and get some sense out of it.
My husband and I are both Taurus, rarely enough, according to my friend’s diagnostic, we have the same ascendant, we’ve the same drive in our professional career (and the other ‘career’ as well), both were destined to succeed in foreign countries and we’re so similar that is boring to even describe it.
Some people might have been worried by these results… I mean, I don’t think that being different to the person that you’re with brings the fun in a relationship, however, for most people; the adventurous ingredient comes from the uncertainty that the other spouse might do something unexpected.

These people haven’t met my husband.

We might have the same planets aligned in a particular way when we were born, or have the same zodiac sign, or even have the same ‘possibilities’ in our future (at least that’s what our Astrology chart said)… but we’re far off being equal or boringly similar.
He’s crazy gorgeous with his Latino self and European behaviour (the perfect combination), he loves music and can extend the shower time just to try a new tune under the water, he’s risky when eating in new places and dresses as an English gentleman.

I’m strong willed, always right and straight as an arrow… but I’m also funny, I love to dance even though I get embarrassed easily. I’m a great cook (testimonies from my fellow guests) – which goes perfect with his savvy appetite – I accept suggestions for dress advice (but that’s it), I eat kind of boring (bread and cheese) but I don’t mind doing a feast for everybody else... and most importantly, I’m a sweetheart (at least most of the time).

We make a good team... Taurus and all, Professionally driven and all, Strong willed and all… we’re perfect for each other. I don’t think that any other person in the world would ever endure my personality if he didn’t love me as my husband does… and I particularly think that no other person in the world would tolerate the protectiveness of my husband if she didn’t love him as I do.

Between my crazy beautiful dog, my crazy gorgeous self, and my crazy stunning husband... we make the most strikingly crazy family.

Dealing with handymen… difficult enough, and if you add the language difference, impossible!

For the past four months we’ve had a leak in our bathroom… it started small, but as every water trickle, the damage builds up with every day that passes.

Being that me and my husband are not always in the apartment during business hours for the handymen of our building, most of the time I have to call the manager (who speaks Polish) and explain to him in English (with the difficulty that I don’t know the technicalities in that language) what do I need from them.

Finally, after several months of trying to ‘discover’ the source (which every plumber can tell you it’s an impossible task if you don’t tear down the wall), we finally pinpointed the problem in the shower.

The verdict was that we spent 10 days without taking a shower… well, not literally, just not in our bathroom.
6 am every morning, I’ll cross the hall to our aunt’s apartment in my PJ’s and the pillow still stuck to my face – ‘quite in the morning mode’ as my mom refers to it – dreading to find a fellow neighbour and give them the harsh reality that my blond, sleek, brushed hair, is not that sleek and smooth when I just stepped out of bed… neither is my face that friendly, nor my mood that welcoming… needless to say that at 6 am, no one is their usual, polished self!

Ten days later, we had our bathroom fixed… in the in-between, during my stealth visits to our aunt’s bathroom, I forgot my shampoo twice, I finished the soap in the middle of my bath (no new one in sight), I dropped my towel running to the door (luckily, no one gets up that early) and I even forgot my clothes… needless to say that when the time came of finally having the problem fixed, I was ecstatic!

Two days later, I still had daily visits from the Handymen… wall kept showing leakage remnants… now the problem wasn’t in the shower, it was in the faucets… later on, was the Dishwasher… after that I lost count.

Handymen are always driving around the problem thinking that you’re stupid enough to buy all the bull they feed you, like your master degree doesn’t apply to plumbing… they haven’t met me.
I set my mind to pester them with requests… daily ones… so they have to; no… NEED TO, fix my problem… because if they continue coming to my house with new theories as to why my wall is falling apart, I’ll come back with real facts to call and call and call and call… you get me?

If life gives you lemons, make calls.

Wine: really god, good for a mix or good for nothing

In the alcoholic beverage industry, ‘drinkability’ refers to the fact that a product has the aptitude to give your sobriety a bit more time before drunkenness takes over.


For me, ‘drinkability’ is the adjective that I give to a drink that has the standard to be ingested (or not).

According to my taste, not many beverages attain this level; mainly because I’m an awful drinker (I get drunk pretty easy), everything tastes sour or needs more sugar (I have a sweet tooth, what can I say) or more importantly, the level of alcohol is indigestible.

As a truthful Argentinean, Malbec wine is one of my favourite types of grapes, and I like it even more if the brand is Fabre Montmayou (my father’s vineyard of course); however, not every Malbec wine taste the same and when I can’t find my brand of choice, my husband chooses for me.

When we have a get together at home, our friends bring their choice of beverage and we offer the food. That’s the way it works for us, because we’re always so many!!

At the end of every party, we have our refrigerator full of alcohol, some of which we’ve never seen nor tried in our lives... and pity to say that even considering the fact that I'm from Argentina, most of our friends bring us wines from Australia and Chile, rather than from my home country!! COME ON PEOPLE!

This weekend, my husband was studying (yet again) and I was bored out of my mind, so I decided to pour me a drink. I found a bottle of wine from Chile (not my preferred choice of origin) and grabbed a glass from our countertop.

I took a sip of my drink.

It tasted like old horses blankets soaked in urine.

I coughed explosively.

- What happened? – asked my hubby

- Nothing – I responded with water in my eyes and dabbing my mouth with a napkin

- You tried the wine, didn’t you?

- Uhhh? How do you know?

- Brave girl – he said while patting me in the back – THAT one was to be mixed with the 'Wine-A-Rita'… Fermented… that’s how it tastes.

- Rotten… putrid… THAT’s how it tastes! – I said still coughing.

For you, ignorant readers, ‘Wine-A-Rita’ is the best invention ever… it permits you to recycle an awful wine into a sugary, fruity, tasty margarita… made from wine… hence: Wine-A-Rita.

Blend it, and ready to serve!

I bought 6 packs online for my sisters who’re coming from Argentina and the Dominican Republic for Thanksgiving… I’m planning on get them completely wasted!!
 
www.wineglace.com
http://www.domainevistalba.com/

Seasoning that pours out of you

Have you ever pondered over the expression: ‘it doesn’t suit me’?

For example, I have this weak stomach and I try to eat pretty blandly because nothing ‘suits me’…no, I’m not referring to clothes (even thought that is your first perception when you hear the frase), I’m referring to the fact that anything that I eat (out of cheese, bread, yogurt and green vegetables) does not sit well on my stomach.
After several months of eating like a two-year-old, all the insipid, wishy-washy food tastes like crap; so in my attempts to spicy up my dinner a bit, I decided to try some new seasonings… or better said, the same old flavours, but applied to new dishes.
Thursday night is on us, so my husband and I opened a bottle of wine and started perusing the refrigerator for an ounce of inspiration regarding our dinner options.
I love baked food… anything that fits in an oven, so I decided to do some Bruschettas and cut some cheese, to go with it. Since I can’t eat tomato (the main ingredient for this dish) I started mixing several spices into the mozzarella to create a culinary rarity (maybe I was going to be famous for it), and more importantly, to avoid have to eat plain Bread & Cheese yet again.
We removed the sizzling dish from the oven and in a silent ceremony; we separated our Bruschettas… tomato for my husband…‘weird looking cheese’ for me.
At first, the explosion of flavour was too much to handle… it was so long since I tasted anything that… ‘tasty’ (excuse the repetition). The cheese melted with the garlic, oregano, salt, nutmeg, olive oil… simply: incredible!

(5 minutes later)
I noticed that my skin was oozing a particular scent… body odour plus something else… so I decided to take my night shower and get it off me before my husband would notice that he had a smelly wife.

(10 minutes later)
Even my nails had a particular aroma… while I tried to decipher the reason that I smelled like a decaying old lady, my husband enter our room and said:

- My god! What is that smell? (ugly smell face)

I couldn’t possibly tell him that I was decomposing so I just mastered my ‘innocent’ face and looked dumbfounded while thinking: I’m positively dying!

(1 second later)
Of course!
The garlic!
I was breathing an aura of garlic that even an individual with an olfactory deficiency wouldn’t miss.
I breathed a sigh of relief, I wasn’t dying after all… and I told my husband:

- It’s me honey… it seems the garlic, doesn’t suit me after all (sweet wife face)

And then:

- Get used to it, because we still have 8 hours of sleep to do and I’m positively sure that I’ll be emanating our Bruschettas in the process… my skin will be complaining of my dinner choice all night (rude wife face)… and don’t even think about sleeping on the sofa.

Karma is what I’m dreading… one thing is me with a ‘Garlic Aura’… another completely different thing is my husband with another type of aura… onion, pepperoni, red pepper...
C-R-A-P!

Who let the dead out? Who let the zombies out? Who let THEM out?

Halloween came and went, and with it, our only chance in the year to become whomever (or whatever) we want.

For us, boring people, Halloween it’s a lame excuse to get wasted, so we simply avoid all the fuzz and stay in the house receiving the trick-or-treaters and reward them with candy.
What we didn’t took into notice, when signing us up into the building’s list, was that you have to cover a 10 hour shift of: door bell ringing-kids/parents receiving-candy giving-holding the “beast” (our 12lb dog)-costume congratulating-door closing process… non-stop.
At the same time, I was cooking Tacos for dinner, a tedious process of a meal that my non-existent gall-bladder doesn’t let me enjoy, so it was a sacrifice to even stand in front of the stove (while salivating over the chicken) and don’t taste the results of my amazing seasoning (pardon my boasting)… 10 hours of running between the door and the kitchen: controlling my cooking, controlling the candy… and I didn’t even got rewarded with a double-decker.

So unfair!

When 4 pm arrived, I was exhausted… a truck must have run me over for sure, and I hadn’t even noticed; so I decided to flee for the door (accomplishing the best disappearing act in the history of Magic) and headed to Union Square to visit a friend’s Photography exposition, with the only goal in mind of avoiding (at least for a few hours) the craziness of Halloween.

B-I-G, B-I-G mistake!

Union Square is the central station for the Halloween parade every year, so without even noticing, I sank even more into the heart of the ‘wackos’ that think that a bloody costume is AWESOME! (Yuck… can you hear me gagging?).
I attempted to get out of the subway and walk to my destination, trying not to lash-out to every person that bumped my shoulder while walking in the opposite direction (that’s the reason I hate shopping in stores)… and not succeeding.
10 paces
Creepy people pushing me around.
12 paces
Ugly smells all over the place.
14 paces
I almost fell over a Zombie on a stop light
… And there I was, heading the other way…
14 paces (in retrocession) later, I was safely concealed into the subway, heading home and plotting for an explanation to give to my husband for the reason that I left the ‘Candy-Fort’ unmanned:

- Dear, I went to buy bread… to Little Italy... Why that far you ask? … Always the best for you, my sweet-pea (all said in a soft, warm voice)

Needless to say that by the end of the day, I was cranky and hungry… cheese tacos are a lame substitution of the real stuffed ones.

YO QUIERO TACO… NO BELL
YO QUIERO TACO A "LA MOI"

Raise your glass... dirty little freaks

Driving three hours a day has its perks… not many, but at least I get to be on top of the big hits that the radio has to offer when new songs are launched.

The last release from female singer Pink it’s a tribute to all the people (like me) that are proud to be “wrong in all the right ways”, the loud talkers (Italian inheritance that you can’t possibly get rid off), the geeks that prefer to read a book rather than see a TV show, the weak drinkers who get wasted with one glass of dessert wine, the 'picky' eaters who prefer a sorbet ice cream rather than a chocolate fudge sundae…

Its 7 am, autumn is here so at that time, the sun is still to make its appearance, I’m driving to the office, bored out of my mind and with still 45 miles left to go, when my favorite radio station (92.3 NOW… Rolling with Nick Cannon!) starts playing this amazing song and before I notice I’m dancing while driving (probably the police will stop me in any minute because you can’t possibly dance while you drive, or because my dancing skills are so lame that I’m an embarrassment to the professionals).

Anyhow, it’s amazing how a simple song on a simple moment, can modify the rest of your day… I spent the rest of my trip to work, going over every radio station to see if I could hear that song again (in two opportunities I almost hit a the rear bumper of a fellow driver... don't seek and drive neither) needless to say that I love it!

I’m sure that my sister is taking notes to download it, because I try to keep her up to date with the newest music hits, since in Argentina you can maybe hope to hear it 6 months after.

I thought that I was alone in the world of the geeks with spastics dancing skills and weak stomachs; however, after I heard it several times, I came up with a list of all the people that could be placed into this song… all of us who’re proud to be utterly and completely different.

Word of advice: don’t try to change us, can you imagine how boring the world would become if we all talked in low tones, or laugh in queue of the same things, or eat the same boring stuffs, or agree on everything… and I mean: EVERYTHING!

Puh-leeze!

I prefer a challenge, so bring in the weird stuff… bring me in!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpziHpmC4lM&feature=related

http://923now.radio.com/shows/nick-cannon/

All foreigners get together in NYC

Being a foreigner puts you in the situation were you’re introduced to people from your own country or people that speak Spanish (as this was the rarest thing to happen in a country where the majority of immigrants are from Latin America) and most importantly, people that shares your line of business or have the same interests as you.


It’s a chain of events that starts with new friends and continues as new individuals come to live in the New York… it’s a circle that never stops nor ends, where you’re being introduce to a bunch of new persons that might, or might not, be appealing as possible acquaintances to you.

All of us have one thing in common though: we’re not from the US.

Since I’ve traveled and lived abroad the majority of my life, I started to become picky (even demanding) when meeting new connections. I prefer to have a small group of friends, rather than a vast gathering of “I just know you a bit” type of people; so I’m popular for my lacking in warmth and my over critical personality when I’m first meeting someone.

For me, they have to pass a test… they don’t have to do anything other than be themselves, and if I don’t find that “click”, then I move on to the next poor bastard that’s in line to meet a Latino girl, whit a great character but a bad temper (when provoked), who defends her friends and always has time for a meet-and-coffee type of gathering.

Life as gone easy on me when introducing me to these new friends… so far, no freaky individual as come in my path, nor have I had the need to relegate anyone. I can remember only one time when I met a girl and we talked for one hour ; enough time for me to do a “one-day-long list” of all the things I hated about her; from her nails, to the way she expressed herself - with a potato stuck into her mouth - down into the way she looked down at you from the point of her noose, as if her superiority was visible for everybody (except me, it seems).

Needless to say that I never (ever) got together with her again… thank god for that!

I hate stuck-ups.

I still have friends… all of them pretty worthy in their own way:

I have RB, who loves astrology and can know “who you are?” just by learning the day you were born; or CT who’s always trying to soothe everybody around her to avoid conflicts, or LM who interrupts while you’re talking but it’s always to say something more interesting than what you were saying in the first place (I want to kill her every time she does it, but she’s such a good person, I can’t manage the strength), or PC who’s recently pregnant and continues her habit not to say bad words (now with the excuse that the baby might be hearing), or LC who even though she lives far away, manages to keep track of my life and have time to hear me bitch about my day, or WS, my ex-boss who transitioned with me when we both moved from Dominican Republic and ended up in the States… becoming better friends in the process, or my recently acquired friendship… JS, who I don’t know yet that well, but her tidiness and compulsion for order, tells me that we’re going to have so much in common!

I’m picky but I know when I’m surrounded with worthy “friend” material…

Ask the stuck-up B*%#@%: who’s your “superior” mama now?